


How He Survived

by untilpeace (untilpeace_thestorm)



Series: Are You Happy Now? [2]
Category: The Voice (US) RPF, The Voice RPF
Genre: M/M, Texting, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 10:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8202304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untilpeace_thestorm/pseuds/untilpeace
Summary: It could never be anything — that's what Adam knew. He's learned to content himself with what they got. If only Blake would catch up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place post-season 10, while Maroon 5 is on tour in Costa Rica.

Most people didn't understand Adam.

He wasn't stupid. He knew what his reputation was and he knew how he came off. At least he knew _now_ , when it was thrown back into his face all the time. Years of being in the spotlight had taught him to embrace it, to lean into it. To play it up. His promiscuity, his vacuousness, even the douchebag title. He learned to grin and take the word cocky for his own. He'd even learned to enjoy it — to take the millions of dollars he now had and take advantage of it, lounging in million-dollar condos and taking wild trips. His Instagram account was the easiest way to display it all. He was a quick learner when it didn't involve, you know, school.

The alternative was a path he knew he couldn't take. This way, the band didn't suffer. He and the guys had long ago agreed Maroon 5 needed a front man, a face, and this way...the others came off a lot better. No one thought they were trash. The world just thought they were victims of Adam Levine's Giant Ego, and the world bought their music anyway.

The alternative was letting them all know how much the endless crap got to him. Adam wasn't that selfish. He'd grown up in LA — he knew what having an image was. He knew how to cultivate it. And he had the important things in his life already— close friends in the form of his bandmates as well as his family. Gene. Jake. Bee. Everyone else in the world could shove it up their ass.

He'd held that attitude for a long while. He was always honest in interviews, when he wasn't obviously making a fucking _joke_ even if the media vultures liked to take everything he said and twist it into tragedy of the highest offense. He didn't have any reason not to be. Outside of keeping his private life private, which he tried to do as much as possible, he didn't really care about what he said. He was a guy with opinions. People had a problem with that because he was famous and hot, and he didn't pretend to be anything else.

God, he'd never in a million years have ever expected that the gigantor of a country singer who would work with him on a stupid reality show would be the kind of guy who would _see right the fuck through him_ on their first meeting.

He wasn't even sure if that's how it had actually gone down. All he knew was that when he and Blake had been introduced and left alone (for chemistry purposes, of course), he knew he'd found a kindred spirit. He knew Christina and everybody (well, everybody except Blake) knew CeeLo, but it was this Oklahoma star that he realized would be his partner in crime in this, his steadying rock against the strange new world of reality television.

It was fucking crazy how much he relied on Blake now.

It started with the touching. Blake was pretty tactile. He figured it was a southern thing, because he was kind of that way with everyone. And Adam guessed it didn't hurt that he was so _large_ , so every time he came over and hugged him, or pulled him in close to kiss him on the cheek, or just came near and towered pleasantly over him...it felt like Adam was being engulfed. It was...comforting, he supposed. He wondered if that was how women felt with men, if his girlfriends or his wife felt that safe in his arms.

And then he reminded himself how that kind of thought would be twisted into his apparently rampaging sexism if ever voiced on camera. God, he really hated people sometimes.

Except Blake. Blake was a singular idiot he wanted to keep arguing with.

It was probably really fortunate that their _bromance_ (he hated, hated, hated that word) played so well to the cameras. Adam couldn't always control his moods and he needed his comforts sometimes. Sitting still and being polite did not in any way come easy to him. He needed to move and stretch and sing and eat. He needed to swear and he needed to laugh. 

With Blake he got to run off some of that excess energy. Bantering with the country singer was one of his favorite things in the world, if only because it quickly devolved into seeing which of them could top the other when it came to insults, or morphed into a game of chicken on who could get away with the most horribly saccharine thing to grace TV screens. It was a contest and Adam thrived on that competition as much as he did the one for which he was paid.

He got comfort from Blake in other ways on set. Sitting in his lap was soothing — probably that whole being engulfed thing again — and Blake put up with his antics more than the others. It was always the country singer who was ready to accompany him when he escaped the set in search of food. It was always Blake's song he turned to when he was bored — changing the lyrics of Honey Bee just to see what Blake would do. Blake had become a lot of things he was starting to suspect he couldn't live without. Which was...difficult. He wouldn't admit to anyone else, but Blake was likely his main reason for not leaving the show. They were past ten seasons of this now and sometimes he had to remind himself that he hadn't even known who Blake was six years ago.

\------  
A beep and sudden brightness. Adam sometimes had trouble sleeping while on tour and even though it was a short one this time, the Central American heat was definitely keeping him up tonight. He wasn't expecting any contact this late, but he was bored and restless and curious enough to reach over and pick up his phone.

[Blake Shelton]  
It was a blurry photo of the left side of Blake's face. Adam grinned slightly to himself as his eyes drank in the terrible denim...hat? that Blake was wearing and stupid look on his face. 

[Adam] You're an idiot.

The reply was immediate.

[Blake] So's your face.

[Adam] How drunk are you?

[Blake] Another photo, this time of Blake's upturned middle finger.

[Adam] That answers it.

[Blake] I hate hollywood parties

[Adam] I know. Why are you at one?

[Blake] I don't know.

[Adam] Are you using me to look cool, Shelton?

[Blake] Shut up.

[Blake] How was the show

[Adam] Exhausting. But good.

[Blake] Why aren't you partying, rock star??

[Adam] Hello? Exhaustion. Vocal rest. You know.

[Blake] Drink some whiskey

[Adam] I thought you were on the vodka schtick right now

[Blake] True. I'll send you some

[Blake] My place is overflowing with the stuff

[Adam] No thank you

[Blake] Don't get Zika.

[Adam] Thanks for your concern.

[Blake] I mean it. I don't want it.

[Adam] Why would you get it if I had it?

Blake didn't respond right away and Adam frowned slightly, taken out of the silly rhythm they'd fallen into. Then he saw three dots appear and eventually a new message.

[Blake] When I welcome you home right.

Adam put his phone face down on his chest, his heart beating a little more rapidly as he stared at the ceiling. 

Why did Blake have to go and say something like that? What the fuck was he playing at? Why the fuck would he put it in writing? His brow furrowed into a glare no one could see and he quickly flipped his phone to silent, turned the screen off, and set it back down. 

Okay, so the country star was off limits communication until he was back in Los Angeles, back in the studio. Fine, he could do that. No problem.

That was how he survived. Blake never knew how hard he worked to make sure none of...that...got out of hand, got reckless. It was for the country star's sake as much as his own. For Behati and now for Gwen.


End file.
